Dr. Webb's office felt smaller than usual, the walls lined with medical journals and awards seeming to press inward like silent witnesses. Ethan sat across from his former mentor, watching as Webb methodically arranged a stack of papers on his desk. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hum of hospital machinery.
"Carlos Rodriguez will make a full recovery," Webb said finally, his voice carefully neutral. "Complete tumor removal with zero complications. His cardiac function is better than it was before the cancer developed."
"That's wonderful news," Ethan replied, though the words felt hollow in his mouth.
"Yes, it is." Webb lifted the top sheet from his stack—a surgical report covered in red annotations. "Do you know what the interesting thing about wonderful news is, Dr. Graves? It's that sometimes it's too wonderful to be believed."
SYSTEM ALERT: High-stress situation detected. Enhanced Focus available. Recommend activation for optimal response formulation.
Ethan ignored the prompt. The last thing he needed was superhuman composure right now. A little nervousness might actually help sell whatever story he was about to construct.
"I'm not sure I follow," he said.
Webb picked up his tablet and swiped through several screens. "I've been reviewing your recent surgical data. The numbers are... fascinating." He turned the tablet toward Ethan. "Your precision rating has improved 340% in the past month. Your surgery time has decreased by an average of 28 minutes per procedure. Your complication rate has dropped to 0.3%—which, statistically speaking, should be impossible for a surgeon handling the case complexity you've been assigned."
The data was laid out in neat graphs and charts, each one a damning piece of evidence. Ethan stared at the screen, watching his own impossible improvement quantified in cold mathematics.
"I've been working hard to get back to my previous standards," he said weakly.
"Previous standards?" Webb laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Ethan, these aren't your previous standards. These numbers are better than your peak performance five years ago. And today..." He pulled up another screen. "Today you performed a surgery that three independent oncology specialists told me was impossible."
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Defensive strategies available. Recommend upgrading to Level 3 for Advanced Deception ability.
The temptation was overwhelming. With the right system ability, he could probably convince Webb that black was white. But that path led to a place he wasn't sure he wanted to go—using the system to manipulate people, to rewrite their perception of reality.
"Sometimes we get lucky," Ethan said instead.
"Lucky." Webb set down the tablet and leaned back in his chair. "You know, I called Dr. Morrison at Johns Hopkins. The man who literally wrote the textbook on pediatric cardiac oncology. I described your procedure to him, and do you know what he said?"
Ethan remained silent.
"He said it was impossible. Not difficult. Not innovative. Impossible. He asked me if I was describing a surgery or a magic trick."
The words hung in the air like an accusation. Ethan felt the weight of every enhanced ability, every system notification, every impossible achievement pressing down on him.
"I've been thinking about what could explain this," Webb continued, pulling out another document. "Drug enhancement was my first thought. Stimulants, nootropics, experimental compounds. But your blood work is clean. Has been for months."
SYSTEM ALERT: Subject is methodically eliminating conventional explanations. Exposure risk: CRITICAL.
"Then I considered psychological factors. Placebo effect, confidence boosting, perhaps some form of self-hypnosis. But the precision improvements are too consistent, too measurable. Whatever's happening to you, it's not in your head."
Webb stood and walked to his window, looking out at the city skyline. "That leaves us with some very uncomfortable possibilities, doesn't it?"
"Such as?"
"Such as the fact that you're somehow cheating death itself." He turned back to face Ethan. "I've been a surgeon for thirty years. I've seen miracle recoveries, lucky breaks, and brilliant innovations. What I witnessed today wasn't any of those things. It was something else entirely."
The room fell silent again. Ethan could hear his own heartbeat, could feel the system's presence like a weight in his mind. He had seconds to make a choice that would define the rest of his career, possibly his life.
"You want to know the truth?" Ethan said finally.
Webb's eyes sharpened. "Yes."
"The truth is that I nearly died in a car accident six weeks ago. And when I woke up in that hospital bed, something had changed. I see things differently now. Patterns in tissue, optimal surgical paths, complications before they happen. I don't know how or why, but I can see the surgery before I perform it."
It was the closest to the truth he dared come. No mention of the system, no supernatural elements, just the inexplicable improvement in his abilities.
Webb studied him for a long moment. "You're asking me to believe that a traumatic brain injury somehow made you a better surgeon?"
"I'm not asking you to believe anything. I'm just telling you what I know."
"And what you know is that you can somehow see optimal surgical outcomes?"
"Something like that."
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Truth-adjacent explanation deployed. Subject response analysis: 67% skeptical, 33% curious. Recommend supporting evidence.
Webb returned to his desk and pulled out one final document—a brain scan. "This is from your accident workup. No significant trauma, no unusual activity patterns, no areas of enhancement or damage that would explain improved cognitive function."
Ethan's heart sank. Of course Webb had been thorough.
"So we're back to impossible," Webb continued. "Which leaves me with a very interesting problem. I have a surgeon on my staff who is performing impossible procedures with impossible precision. From a medical standpoint, I should be studying you. From an administrative standpoint, I should be reporting you. From a human standpoint..." He paused. "From a human standpoint, I should be asking you to save as many lives as possible."
The admission hung between them like a bridge neither man was sure they wanted to cross.
"What are you saying?" Ethan asked.
"I'm saying that in thirty years of medicine, I've learned that some questions are more important than others. The question of how you're doing what you're doing is fascinating. But the question of whether you should continue doing it... that's the one that matters."
Webb walked around his desk and sat on the edge, directly facing Ethan. "Carlos Rodriguez is going home to his family. Margaret Walsh's recovery time was cut in half. Miguel Santos didn't lose three days of work to surgical complications. These aren't statistics, Ethan. These are lives."
SYSTEM ALERT: Subject attempting to recruit user as ally. Recommend caution.
"You're saying you'll look the other way?"
"I'm saying I'll work with you. Whatever this is, whatever's happening to you, we can figure it out together. But I need your complete honesty. No more deflection, no more half-truths. If we're going to do this, I need to know exactly what I'm dealing with."
Ethan felt the weight of the moment. Webb was offering him something he hadn't expected—partnership instead of exposure. But it would mean revealing everything: the system, the abilities, the impossible nature of what he'd become.
"And if I can't give you that honesty?"
Webb's expression hardened. "Then I'll have no choice but to recommend your suspension pending a full investigation. The medical board doesn't like mysteries, Ethan. They like explanations, documentation, and reproducible results. What you're doing... it's going to attract attention from people far less sympathetic than I am."
The ultimatum was clear. Trust Webb completely or face professional destruction.
SYSTEM PROMPT: Critical decision point reached. Multiple pathways available:Option 1: Full disclosure to Dr. WebbOption 2: Partial disclosure with system concealmentOption 3: Level 3 upgrade for Advanced DeceptionOption 4: Resignation and relocation
Recommend immediate decision. Dr. Webb's patience appears limited.
Ethan looked at his former mentor, the man who had taught him surgery, who had believed in him when others hadn't. Webb's offer was genuine—he could see it in the older man's eyes. But it was also dangerous. The system was beyond anything Webb could understand or accept.
"I need time to think," Ethan said.
"You have until tomorrow morning. Come to me with the truth, or come to me with your resignation. But this conversation ends one way or another."
Webb stood and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "For what it's worth, Ethan, I hope you choose to trust me. Whatever's happening to you, you don't have to face it alone."
The door closed with a soft click, leaving Ethan alone with his thoughts and the system's constant presence in his mind. Tomorrow morning, he would have to choose between revelation and exile.
SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Multiple high-priority decisions pending. Level 3 upgrade still available. Recommend strategic planning session.
Ethan closed his eyes and tried to imagine a world where he could tell someone—anyone—the complete truth about what he'd become. But every scenario ended the same way: with people who would never understand trying to control something they could never comprehend.
The system had given him the power to save lives. But it had also given him the burden of keeping secrets that grew heavier with each passing day.
Tomorrow morning would change everything. The only question was whether the change would destroy him or set him free.